Dream Magic

by Michelle Mankin

  Promise Thyme, I added in my mind. I wouldn’t fail her again. I couldn’t lose both my best friend and my brother.

  “How Morpheus?” Billy asked. “How will we find her? The gargoyle could have taken her anywhere. They don’t need sleep and rarely dream. There’s no trail in the sky for us to follow. No witnesses to question. We don’t even know what she looks like.”

  “There may be a way.” I had already pondered those things. “That’s why I am leaving for Paris tonight. I only delayed to tell you what has happened.” The feathers on my wings ruffled restless to be in the sky. “I will go to the oracle at Phoebus’ court. She has been with the Sun King for nearly two decades. They say she is unparalleled in finding items or people that are lost. She only needs to touch something that is valuable to them.”

  My fingers were numb inside my cashmere lined leather gloves. Ice crystals had formed on my lashes and on my wings too because I was flying at such a high altitude. But it was necessary. I was taking advantage of the jet stream to enhance my speed.

  Buffeted by a sudden patch of rough turbulence, I dropped several hundred feet unexpectedly before I was able to right myself and regain the altitude I had lost. For a frantic moment as I plummeted I panicked thinking I had lost it, but when my heart rate slowed I realized it was still there. Thyme’s favorite poetry tome remained safe tucked deep into a zippered pocket of my flight jacket.

  Stars above me that looked close enough to touch and nothing but the black expanse of ocean thirty thousand feet below, my thoughts inevitably turned inward. I sifted through everything I could remember about Phoebus’ famous oracle.

  Cecilia Ramirez y Aguilera.

  A beautiful name. Hispanic though no one knew the place of her birth or anything of her lineage. The fact that she was an oracle who surpassed Delphi with her primary gifts of prophecy and scrying was established. Beyond that were only rumors and speculation. Some said she was Phoebus’ lover. Some said she was his prisoner. Some said she could strike you mute with one look from her moon shaded eyes. But no one could describe exactly what she looked like. In the court where she prophesized she always wore a robe with a heavy cowl over her face.

  Because she is hideous or too lovely to behold? I wondered.

  Some said Phoebus had conjured her from the bones of Delphi. I wouldn’t have put it past him to attempt such a foul act. The Sun King was every bit the blight on Light Immortals as Apollyon was on my kind. And because of Cecilia and her gifts he had risen to become a premier power in our competitive immortal world. His coffers were rumored to be filled with so much gold that he bathed in it. Many reputedly owed him favors for what Cecilia had done for them. The fees for his oracle’s services were as dear as those Hephaestus charged for his obsidian crafted weapons.

  I didn’t have that level of wealth. Luckily for us, Bacchus did. The wines from his vineyard were touted by experts to be among the finest in the world, and he had collected the revenue from them throughout his lifetime. Because of him, I now carried both the necessary funds and a day pass to Phoebus’ Court, without which I would not be admitted as a Dark Immortal.

  At one time Bacchus had been Zeus’ favorite, and Phoebus had been a close second. But over the years the Light Heir had begun to perceive Phoebus as a true threat, and all knew that was why he had decreed that Cecilia could only use her talents four times each year. And the restriction had remained in place for the last decade. She had used her gifts three times in the current year already.

  Officially.

  I was a mercenary. I knew there were always exceptions and behind the scenes deals. I didn’t care how I achieved my goal to find Thyme I just knew that I would not fail her again.

  I crossed the English Channel as the sun was rising, a blaze of orange surrounded by soft pink. I dipped my shoulder at the French coastline and turned toward Paris. Following the train tracks from Normandy I tried not to be distracted by the grand sights as I arrived at the romantic city. Notre Dame. The Seine and its myriad of bridges. The Arc de Triomphe. The Louvre. Paris was like no other place in the world.

  I reluctantly gave up my glorious bird’s eye perspective, anticipating my treacherous mission. Phoebus’ realm was sealed from the outside world by a magical mist. There was only one official way in, much as Laveau’s tomb offered the only sanctioned entrance to the Underground.

  At the base of the Eiffel Tower beneath the shadow of one of its wrought iron footprints, the attractive Sun Elf who frisked me down for weapons lingered overly long. Her fingers were under my shirt and skimmed my skin like a lover tracing the ridges of my abs before I cleared my throat and raised a brow. “The only danger besides my talons lies further south. If you wish to inspect it, I would suggest that we move somewhere more private first.”

  “He’s clear.” She blushed. For a Sun Elf that mean she turned a deeper shade of blue.

  “Thank you, mademoiselle.” I touched my thumb to her chin as I leaned down. She wanted to play a bit? I could play too. Her lips parted. She thought I was going to kiss her. “I’ll take my book back now.” I reached behind her and plucked Thyme’s book from the table where she had carelessly tossed it in her haste to get her hands on me.

  “Oh,” she said huffily as I strutted toward the stairs to the lift.

  “Who was that?” I heard her security companion ask.

  “Morpheus.”

  “The Dream Falcon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Holy shit he’s hot.”

  “I know, right?”

  Tucking Thyme’s book back inside my jacket, I jogged up the stairs and reached the landing for the lift just as the doors were starting to close. I pressed inside with the others apologizing to the stern faced Sun Elf guard manning the control panel when I jostled his crossbow.

  “Falcon,” he acknowledged his eyes brightening with recognition. “Morpheus. How are you?”

  “Marcel?” I questioned, putting a name to the familiar face.

  “The same.”

  “What are you doing here? When I last saw you we were on that mission in Tunisia. You were about to get married. How is your wife?”

  “Things changed.” His open face closed. “I live here now.”

  “I’m sorry. It seems that might be a sad tale.”

  He nodded. Someone cleared their throat. The other guard. Marcel glanced around the elevator as if just then remembering that we weren’t alone. “What brings you to the Sun City?”

  “I’ve come to see the oracle.”

  His purple brows rose. “For what reason?” he whispered leaning in.

  “I seek one who has been lost.” I cocked my head to the side. “Why else do outsiders visit her?”

  “For no other reason,” he replied a little too quickly glancing pointedly at the guard beside him. The other passengers’ gazes were blank as we passed through the pink mist that shielded Phoebus’ realm from his enemies, but I peered out into it wondering if it were as impenetrable as it appeared. I was still thinking about strategy and defenses when the car lurched to a stop. “Good luck with your errand, Morpheus,” Marcel declared in an overly loud voice as the elevators doors opened and the group who had been stuffed inside with me started streaming out.

  I nodded in acknowledgment and exited the lift. The desert like heat blasted me. I took my jacket off and laid it over my arm. The glare was nearly blinding. Squinting through the heat, I followed the crowd. I had never been inside the City of Lights. Access had been restricted during my lifetime. Without the day pass which constituted official court business, I would never have been allowed into the city in the first place. The plan was to try to secure the final reading of the year on Thyme’s behalf. Failing that, I had a contact in the city who could arrange a clandestine meeting with the oracle.

  “M.” Marcel tugged on my arm.

  I turned back to face him.

  “Be careful.”

  “Always.”

  “No, be really, really careful...” He trailed off
and glanced around again nervously. The other guard from the lift wasn’t paying attention to us, but there were several other crossbow wielding ones who were watching us but pretending not to. My instincts went haywire. “Cecilia is capable. I have no doubt that she can find whoever you are seeking. But she belongs to Phoebus. Like really belongs to him. He is extremely jealous of anyone who even speaks to her. None here will stand against him. There is not much I could do if you anger him. When I say to be careful, I don’t mean it casually. Understand?”

  Things were worse in Phoebus’ realm than the rumors had hinted. He was a dictator within these walls, the ultimate authority with the Sun Elves as his enforcers it seemed. I would have to tread carefully. I was on my own without backup until Bacchus and Billy arrived by plane. Arla was a Progeny, a strong one, but only Hermes could bend time to travel. Shane would be on the way soon too, but he had arranged a charter with a well informed and heavily compensated immortal pilot who owed him a favor.

  Billy, Shane and me. Our alliance remained because of our hatred of Apollyon and our love for Thyme. Together we wouldn’t delay setting out to retrieve her once the oracle told us her location.

  Unfortunately, my particular talent of influencing mortals and immortals inside their dreams didn’t affect Progeny or I would have already been using it to influence Phoebus.

  But I wouldn’t hesitate to use my gift on the oracle…if she refused to cooperate. I only hoped that she wouldn’t be able to sense my presence and block me the way Apollyon’s spell caster had when I had sought information about Thyme’s disappearance.

  It didn’t really matter. By whatever means I needed, I was going to find her.

  I had never seen anything like Phoebus’ realm. Lack of funding certainly wasn’t evident even though his oracle was now limited to four uses of her talents per year. Opulence abounded. Buildings were immaculately maintained. The awnings over the cafes boasted the finest materials. Shops contained top of the line goods and fashions, and the streets were not just cobblestone, but were accented with precious metals and gemstones.

  No expense had been spared inside the palace, either. It was nearly identical to its copy below in Paris, only time hadn’t seemed to affect it. Everything appeared to be brand new. Priceless works of art filled every niche. Original statues by master sculptors posed proudly in every cranny. Fine cut crystal chandeliers sparkled their brilliance over all of the finery.

  “Pardon, monsieur.” A demon boy who only came up to my waist bumped into me.

  “No, problem, little one.” I smiled to assure him, but his gaze was locked on my talons which were partially extended. His eyes widened and he moved closer to his father. I was sorry that I had frightened him, but I was heeding Marcel’s warning and wanted to be prepared for anything. Not only was I caught up in a press of nearly two hundred Dark Immortals on the floor of the hall, but I was also a sitting duck slash falcon, completely vulnerable should one of the crossbow toting guards up in the stands decide to truncate the visit Bacchus’ day pass had secured for me.

  A trumpet sounded, a long note that preceded a royal anthem. Murmurings around me ceased and in the sudden quiet, everyone, even those in the stands stood at attention. On the opposite end of the long hall from where I stood, several guards marched into position on a raised platform. Following them was a sun elf of indiscriminate age with a white hair tied back into a queue. His powdered wig was a throwback to some other time. It was incongruent with his shiny three-piece suit, which I imagined must have cost more than my entire wardrobe.

  “All rise,” the white wigged elf declared in a voice that carried throughout the hall.

  Up in the stands beneath a row of windows the Sun Elf citizens rose from their gilded benches in a flurry of fashion magazine worthy finery. Males in suits and silk ties. Females in haute couture and heels. All wore platinum bands with a rising sun motif around their upper arms.

  “All bow,” the herald stated formally while he unrolled an ornately carved scroll. The elves only lowered their heads. The Dark Immortals beside me went to their knees. No rustle. Just soft thuds as they hit the floor. The polyester track suits and orange tennis shoes they wore reminded me of prison uniforms. The obsidian collars with the Sun King’s mark around their necks appalled me. The dark material dully reflected the light as they cast their abject gazes to the ground.

  “Phoebus. The honorable and Favored Progeny of Zeus. The once and future judge of the Court of the Light Immortals. May his brilliance and benevolence bring light to all Immortals.” The herald rewound the parchment and two sword bearing elves wearing pink tunics over their suits took the stage. Behind them, proudly and pompously erect, strode Phoebus. His nose lifting higher into the air, his sandy blond perfectly coifed curls slid back to reveal a face that I thought was nothing out of the ordinary but that I had heard many females found irresistible.

  He straightened his cuffs as he moved to the center of the platform, his pink diamond cuff links and the jeweled sun emblem tie pin dazzlingly refracting the light from the chandeliers. But even brighter than his accessories was the aura that surrounded him. Like Zeus, he radiated his own light and it was significantly brighter than the rays streaming through the cathedral windows behind the elf spectators.

  Just like when I first stepped off the lift, I had to squint to regard him.

  And as I did it hit me like a sharp punch to the gut whom he resembled…strongly. My mother.

  Dozens of memories rushed at me. I was nearly brought to my knees beneath the onslaught, though I did in fact remain standing while everyone else paid him homage.

  I refused to bow to anyone.

  Phoebus had hair the same shade as Hemera. Eyes the same, too, though his were a barren desert where hers had been an oasis. He surveyed the hall, his haughty gaze pausing on me and sharpening for a long moment before he turned to the white coiffed elf and dipped his chin giving some kind of silent order.

  “All elf citizens take their seats,” the herald announced. “Slaves, you have permission to rise.”

  Phoebus moved to his throne. It was shiny and appeared to be made of white gold. The tall back was stamped with his rising sun emblem. The pink banners on either side bore the same likeness. The monarch was overzealous with his brand. Even among the Progeny the pomp and circumstance within his hall was noteworthy.

  Phoebus unbuttoned his jacket with a casual hand and relaxed into his seat.

  “The Court of the Light Immortals is now in session,” the herald declared.

  Grievances, one after another, all by Light Immortals against dark ones, were brought forward for the monarch to rule on. His expression was indifferent as he listened to each one, but his gaze was as wickedly honed as the judgements he invariably meted out. No mercy was shone to any who worshipped the moon. There was only one brave Dark Immortal who brought a petition. The transfer of ownership he requested was summarily denied.

  The tension among those on the floor grew more palpable as the proceedings wore on. Hands clenched tighter. Teeth gritted. Gazes hardened.

  Phoebus ruled with an iron fist. But did he know he had a near revolt on his hands?

  And if he did know, did he ignore it on purpose believing he had enough power to suppress it?

  “Landon, Landon, dear Landon.” I refocused my attention on Phoebus as he droned on in that bored voice. He shook his head. “You disappoint your regent greatly.” A tall demon with the fully developed horns stood proudly before the monarch even though his hands were cuffed behind him and two guards flanked him. “Your master was well within his rights to punish you. You should not have resisted his efforts to reform you. The sentence is death.” He made a sharp motion across his neck with his ringed hand. “Death by Madame Guillotine, though it bereaves me to lose such a strong worker. But disobedience must never be tolerated. Darks must know their place or accept the consequences.”

  The eyes of those in the stands shone with approval, but those on the floor beside me shifted. An
angry murmur accompanied their agitated movements. If it weren’t for the obsidian collars weakening them, I thought it likely Phoebus would already be dead several times over.

  “Bring Cecilia forward.” The monarch waved a dismissive hand into the air as the shocked condemned slave was dragged from the hall.

  A hushed silence fell over the hall. The Sun Elves leaned forward. The Dark Immortals with me shuffled closer to the stage like a wave breaking for the shore.

  Four elves wearing tunics appeared, two in front, two behind, supporting a litter. Upon its single chair sat a woman. She was wearing a heavy red robe, the hood shadowing all of her face except for a sliver of a straight patrician nose and a slightly rounded chin.

  The crowd began to chant her name.

  Cecilia. Cecilia. Cecilia.

  The voices in the hall echoed the refrain of my suddenly completely enthralled heart.

  I internalized my own voice to the chorus in the hall.

  Cecilia. Cecilia. Cecilia.

  “Morpheus.”

  Mother?

  I froze, my ears straining to hear her lovely voice over the frenetic thrumming of my heart and the noise in the hall. I never heard her outside of the dreamscape and the treasured memories that lingered there. Was she truly speaking to me from the Otherside? Only Hades could grant such a boon. Why would he? And why would she speak now when she never had before?

  “She is the one, my son. The one the magic has chosen for you.”

  The oracle and I were Fated.

  I moved forward through the crowd fully compelled by her.

  I had to be closer.

  I had to see her.

  To touch her.

  To possess her.

  Because she was mine.

  I sensed movement behind me but ignored it and all else.

  Something was wrong with her.

  I didn’t like the way my Fated’s frame seemed to rest at an awkward angle.